All Chapters of My Husband Chose His Ex When I Was pregnant: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Elena’s POVThe air seven miles above the Atlantic was quiet, thin, and frigid.Below the Gulfstream’s cabin windows, a solid blanket of white clouds stretched toward the eastern horizon, catching the pale, cold pink of dawn. I sat at the executive desk in the forward suite, my Slate silk gown exchanged for a crisp ivory blouse and dark charcoal trousers. On the screen of my tablet, the live trading feeds from the Singapore Exchange ran in steady, downward cascades of red.Julian stepped through the pocket door from the communications bay, carrying two fresh cups of black coffee. He looked exhausted, the dark circles beneath his eyes contrasting sharply with the tight, satisfied grin playing on his lips."Dr. Zhang’s board didn't even wait for the High Court’s opening bell," Julian said, setting a porcelain cup on the mahogany coaster beside my hand. "Aetheris Energy’s independent directors held an emergency conference call at six-thirty Singapore time. They’ve officially suspended Me

Elena’s POVThe early morning traffic along the FDR Drive was a stagnant river of grey metal under a low, bruised sky. Rain still smeared the windows of my armored sedan as we moved south toward Financial Square, the Manhattan skyline rising out of the mist like a cluster of obsidian headstones.Beside me, Julian held a black leather folio containing the morning legal briefs. His tablet rested face-down on his knee, its screen continuously flashing amber with incoming press inquiries from Bloomberg, The Wall Street Journal, and the European financial desks."The federal court in Albany released Margaret Cole’s death certificate at six o'clock this morning," Julian said, his voice flat with exhaustion. "The obituary notices are already running across the wire services. They're describing her as the 'last matriarch of the old Manhattan banking era.'""Who authorized her estate's public statement?" I asked, my gaze fixed on the grey waters of the East River."Her probate attorney in Whit

Elena’s POVThe silence inside the grand timber hall stretched until the crackle of the birch logs sounded like pistol shots against the glass.The Norwegian deputy minister took a involuntary step back, his eyes darting frantically from the live icebreaker tracking map on Julian’s tablet to the broad, frozen silhouette of Torstein Lind. The surrounding telecom executives stood motionless, flutes of aquavit held halfway to their lips, paralyzed by the sheer, terrifying scale of the counter-strike I had just laid across the table.Torstein didn't move a muscle. His pale-blue eyes remained glued to the small satellite drive resting on the dark timber surface beside his glass.For thirty years, he had operated in the cold isolation of the Nordic shelf, using hard geographic choke points to force European energy ministers into quiet submission. He was used to dealing with politicians who panicked over public perception and corporate executives who hid behind arbitration clauses in London.

Elena’s POVFloor B4 smelled of damp subterranean concrete, heavy industrial oil, and cold, pressurized air. High-voltage LED floodlights hummed along the low ceiling, casting stark, surgical shadows across the empty concrete bays.A single matte-black armored van sat idling in the center of Bay 4, its exhaust venting in pale, wispy trails toward the overhead filtration ducts. Surrounding the vehicle at a ten-foot perimeter were six of Marcus’s elite tactical guards, weapons held low in low-ready positions, their laser sights tracing silent red dots across the van’s reinforced steel chassis.The express elevator doors chimed behind me and glided open.I stepped onto the cold concrete, my heels clicking in a slow, unhurried, and commanding rhythm. Julian walked three paces behind my right shoulder, his face taut, his eyes fixed on the dark tinted windows of the vehicle.As I approached the perimeter line, Marcus raised his hand, gesturing for his men to widen the cordon."He hasn't tou

Elena’s POVThe air over Lake Geneva was sharp, cold, and heavy with the scent of pine forest and fresh alpine snow.Below the Gulfstream’s cabin window, the blue, ink-like waters of the lake reflected the grey, overcast sky, its quiet shores dotted with centuries-old private châteaux and heavily guarded diplomatic compounds. The afternoon light was fading fast, casting long, pale violet shadows across the manicured lawns of the Montreux hillside.I sat in the main cabin, wearing a tailored charcoal wool trousersuit under a sleek black cashmere coat, my dark hair pulled back into an immaculate, tight twist. Beside me on the mahogany table sat the brass-bound mahogany box containing the 1996 Atlantic Energy Charter.Julian adjusted his tie for the fourth time in ten minutes, his fingers visibly trembling against the fabric."The Swiss Federal Police have assigned a full diplomatic escort to our motorcade from Cointrin Airport," Julian reported, his voice low and strained above the low